The Illmoor Chronicles Hp style Book 1
by Hailriq Atticus Jay Veritas
Summary: Changed Catergories. a country riddled with magic, both light & dark... and a capital city overrun with RATS. Book 1 The Ratastrophe Catastrophe.
1. Chapter 1

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A wood fire is crackling merrily stretched out by the fire is a tabby cat. The tabby's head rose as a figure walked into the room with a plate of cookies, a cup of tea and a book. The figure settled down and stroked the cat beside it you couldn't tell if the figure was male or female. The figures name was Hailriq Atticus Jacomus Leandros Veritas also known as Hail, Hail yawned and sipped their cup of tea and snuggled down. Murmuring to their cat Hail informed the Cat that they didn't own the Illmoor chronicles or Harry Potter but Hail informed them that they were both going to take turns reading to their reviewers if they had any that is. Hailriq also wondered if they could guess His/Her gender. Not that He/She/It cared but it would be nice. The Characters would be introduced as they were shoved into the story. Hailriq took another sip of His Her/It's drink cleared His/Her/It's throat and began………………………

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Opening - Prologue

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During the Tri-age (Civilisation's third attempt at getting things correct) there grew, from the engorged lip of Illmoor, a city the likes of which were never seen on Illmoor before in history (recorded or pre-recorded).

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The leaders of this metropolis were imbecilic, giving escalation to crimes as sundry as deception and murder. In the middle of this depraved collection of assassins and cutpurses the city rapidly earned a forbidding standing, becoming spurned by numerous and commonly avoided by travellers throughout the Gleaning Mountains, by which it was sheltered, like the hoard of a exceptionally apprehensive dragon.

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Still, a sizeable, weather-beaten (or it might have been like that when it was made ) plaque swung back and forth, back and forth, on weary hinges on top of the city gates proudly welcoming all and sundry to visit Dullitch. Though a local saying warned,

'You haven't lived until you've visited Dullitch and, after that, you won't want to……

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The continent of Illmoor is riddled with magic. Not the empty, incompetent magic practiced by men who believe themselves to be archaic (now redundant) order of sorcery. This is _original, undiluted _magic, on which the continent is constructed.

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Two types of magic co-exist: light and dark.

Light magic finds its place in the air, giving rise to galloping unicorns, love charms and fairy groves. It is much sort after by the latter day 'sorcerers' but proves practically impossible to harness, even to those who spend long hours in pursuit of it.

Dark magic, on the other hand, seeks immediately to earth itself in the land it once used to forge. It is an angry magic, an untamed source, a parasite yearning for a host.

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And hosts are rare....

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Tree suffice, for their roots go deep, but this is no way for dark magic to travel; it's straightforward, rather boring and nobody gets hurt. No, what dark magic truly requires is susceptible minds. These are a delicacy and, although seldom encountered, are always relished. But dark magic is a reckless lodger; it cares little for the minds it invades.

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A particularly powerful charge of dark magic appeared during the reign of Duke Fudge. It arrived almost unnoticed. In fact, only two pairs of eyes in the whole of Illmoor observed its passage.

Those eyes belonged to the mercenaries, Hagrid, and Flitwick; although their part in the story would not become apparent for some time. Long before _they_ had the notion to set their steeds southwards, the magic had found its mind.

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A searing wave of energy infiltrated a land of fields and forests, homing in, until…

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_**Hail: "Review. By the By can you guess if I'm Male Or Female."**_

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**HP character: Flitwick, Fillus**

**Illmoor character: Goldaxe, Gordo**

**Description: Dwarf–sized Mercenary, white hair and wears leather armour.**

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**HP character: Hagrid, Rebeus**

**Illmoor character: Teethgrit, Groan**

**Description: Barbarian, Mercenary, wears leather armour and a bobble beanie.**

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**Chapters to look out for**

**Chapter 1 – Meet, Harry the Charmer.**

**Chapter 2 – The beginning of the invasion.**

**Chapter 3 – This is getting annoying.**

**Chapter 4 – Fudge.**

**Chapter 5 – Wanted.**

**Chapter 6 – Kickin' rats we'll go.**

**Chapter 7 – a dog? Or a cat?**

**Chapter 8 – aetas ut quaero ut factum**

**Chapter 9 – Bardus**

**Chapter 10 – Nullus**

**Chapter 11 – Play that funky music, Harry.**

**Chapter 12 – Drowned, Hurrah.**

**Chapter 13 – What?**


	2. Meet,Harry the Charmer

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Hailriq got up and stretched he/she/it, looked fondly over at her/his/it's pet who went by the name her/his/it's baby boy or Konkeo-chan. Hailriq walked out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen it/he/she put on the kettle and got out some pots and a bowl and made Homemade meatballs with two types of potato for a side dish once made she/he/it took the food and another cup of tea back to his/her/it's story reading room and reminded itself/herself/himself that she/he/it didn't own The Illmoor Chronicles or Harry Potter and settled down placed a bowl of meatballs in front of Konkeo-chan and once again began to read from a book called **The Ratastrophe Catastrophe.**

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"Talking"

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Chapter 1:

Meet, Harry the charmer

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….Whoosh.

Harry Potter dropped his flute. The leather-bound book that had been quiescent on his lap tumbled to the floor and lay open, its pages flapping in the breeze.

"What is it, lad?"

The boy turned and looked at his father, a lock of messy black hair covering one eye. His smile was angst-ridden.

"I thought I heard something, Dad."

"That'll be the cattle cart." Said his father.

Mr. Potter looked out over a broad expanse of west-country farmland, his brow creased. A small number of cows in the field opposite had wondered over to the gate and were mooching absent-mindedly about.

"No, it was more like a emotion than a sound. I thought I felt something."

"Well, that'll be your dinner," his father continued, reflecting on years of terror at the dinner table. Mrs. Potter was one of a long line of cooks on her mother's side of the family. He hoped passionately that she would be the last. "You know something Harry my boy, when I first met your Ma, she used to make puddings, the like of which would twist your stomach inside out for days on end."

"Yes Da. So you've told me. Continually.

"Oh well, Fair's fair. Your reading again I see?"

Harry nodded, sliding his flute under a rock with the heel of his boot. He snatched up the book.

It's called _Ancient Royal Fables_."

"Good lad," said James, patting Harry lovingly on the shoulder. "Have you got to the part where Salazar the wise tells prince Godric to go round up the sheep?"

"No, Dad."

Harry's father was a great believer in Stories, as long as they allowed room for creativeness. He found them particularly useful for when he wanted his son to do something onerous or nasty sometimes both. Luckily, there was plenty of source material in the tales of King Salazar the wise. Whatever tedious chore Harry found himself with, he could guarantee poor prince Godric had been there and done it first.

Harry looked up. His dad was waiting tolerantly, a grin spreading like treacle across his handsome face.

"I'll go and round up the sheep now, Dad." Said Harry, with a knowing Smile.

He got to his feet and set off towards the north field. His father watched him go.

Harry wasn't a bad lad James Potter reflected, at least not in the traditional sense. He just dawdled from time to time, lacked focus. Perhaps he should take his brother-in-laws advice and send Harry to Legrash for the summer, let him come into contact with the real world. What harm could it do?

He stroked his chin thoughtfully, wondering exactly how much trouble a young boy could get into in a town like Legrash. A boy like Harry. Probably best not to contemplate. As he continued to stroke his chin a thought came to him 'stroking his chin like that, he needed a beard.' He whistled a merry tune and headed off to see how his son was getting on with the sheep.

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The magic sank deep into Harry's mind like a stone plunging down a deep well. There it lay low, bidding it's time with patience born of millennia remaining in empty sky's and lurking in inactive hollows.

When, finally, the decision was made to surface it did so with such reptilian guile that no human eye could detect the change. Harry Potter, however, was cursed with the ownership of an albino Barrowbird with particularly keen sight her name was Hedwig.

The Barrowbird is a curious creature indeed. One of the High Art's darker throwbacks, it is rumoured to have once been an ordinary scrawny relative of the forest hornbill. Legend holds that on the few occasions throughout history when the gods decided to visit Illmoor, they did so by inhabiting the minds of barrowbirds. On one such occasion, it is said one for the most part spiteful god decided to leave something behind: the curse 'Vocaliss Truthilium', commonly translated as 'I speak as I find'.

And the Barrowbird did just that. In fact it gave a new and terrible meaning to the phrase. No personal comment was beyond it. Despised as a species, these put-downs included such harsh observations as, "you'll never get a girlfriend unless you actually cut that ear off." And oft heard, "if I had a figure like yours, love, I'd stay indoors for the duration".

Now Hedwig was treating Harry to a baleful stare.

"There's somethin' amiss with your right eyeball," she chirped "'S glowin' like an ember init?"

"It is?"

Harry blinked and raised a hand to his head. He'd been propped against one corner of the pigpen all morning, watching the truffle hogs misbehaving.

"Maybe I'm coming down with something," he said, beginning to wonder off around the side of the pen. "I do feel a bit odd."

He reached for his flute and brought it up to his lips, but was interrupted before he was able to muster a tune.

"Could be fouleye," Hedwig squawked. "You hear of a lot of folk dyin' from that."

"Dying? It's fatal?"

"right as mustard. You ask anyone: "How's your daughter Milly?" "Fouleye took her." How's your aunty Ethel?" "Down with fouleye." One minute you're runnin' around a field, the next you're a goner. That's usually females, mind. I never heard of a male taken with it yet."

"Ok, Ok. It's probably not that then."

Harry created a single, strident note from the flute then put it away in his tunic. He didn't feel like playing today; his heart wasn't in it.

He sighed then closed his eyes tight, then hesitantly opened them again.

"Has it gone?" he asked.

"Has it heck," said Hedwig. "Now they're both alight! Cor, stone me. You're not standin' on a lightnin' rod or somethin' are ya?"

Harry took a step back, and then looked around.

"I'm not standing on anything," he said. "Besides, you noticed it when I was over there."

Hedwig put her head on one side.

"Then, if I were you, I'd go and see the apothecary or, come to that, the village witch."

"A witch? Why would I want to see a witch?"

"Well first there's the eye thing, and then maybe you could find out why your such a magnet for pigs."

"Huh?"

Turning around on his heels, Harry noticed for the first time that all his father's twelve hogs had followed him along the length of the pen and were now squatting in a group just beyond the fence. Bizarre. Usually, they ignored him completely, unless he had scraps.

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Harry's visit to the apothecary wasn't entirely successful. The man, like most of the village, largely ignored everything Harry had to say, before supplying him with a strange potion that looked and tasted like curdled milk. Now that he thought about it, it probably was. He had to take it three times a day, as instructed, or, alternately, "whenever he felt a bit odd".

Harry had always been a loner, but now he took to spending entire days in the fields by himself. He'd given Hedwig to his Da as a birthday present; her insults and depressing predictions of heinous eye disorders had become unbearably tiresome. Also, she had started crowing about his increasingly resonant voice and made a pointed comment to the effect that, every time he played a note on his flute, the neighbour's grimalkin came tearing across the Midden Field as though the hounds of hell were after it.

He had seen that wretched cat a lot lately.

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Weeks passed and, as the magic took root in Harry's mind, it began to surface in a most peculiar fashion, giving the boy an almost magnetic personality. Foolish absent-mindedness became thoughtful contemplation, inane and idiotic comments were replaced by clever and insightful witticisms. In short, people began to notice Harry Potter.

They would spend a few moments talking with him, and then trail after him in large groups, like sheep after a shepherd. This was all much to Harry's amazement; he'd never had a lot of time for people before. Now they praised him and longed-for his music (unlike his father, who only tolerated the odd tune every evening after tea). These people wanted more. They would wait quite unwearyingly all day, just on the off-chance of a tune. It wasn't even as if his music was particularly melodic, as Harry would have been first to admit. On the whole, it tended to consist of a few strangled notes huddled together in grief-stricken misery.

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Then one afternoon, everything changed.

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Harry had been playing for Lavender, the baker's niece, when suddenly the music came alive. He didn't even notice it happening; it was simply there at his lips, awaiting release. To the girl's awestruck delight, he produced tune after tune, melody after melody, song after song. These delicate pieces alighted in the air, twisting and turning in the breeze, carrying for miles over hills and dales. Slowly, one by one, the villagers of Little Irksome stopped what they were doing and craned their necks to listen. Then put down their tools and washboards, snatched up their hats and fastened their walking shoes. The cobbled lanes of the village were suddenly alive with inquiring minds once and for all drawn to the sound.

By mid-afternoon, the entire population of the village stood grouped around an old oak tree in the Midden Field, listening to Harry Potter weave his tune. And play he did. From that day forth, he knew that nothing in his life would ever be the same again.

So did his parents.

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In practically no time at all Harry's talent's had become many, from snake-charming to hypnotising mice. Visitors arrived from a few neighbouring villages to watch his skills and hear his music. Deep inside his subconscious the magic was throbbing, turning, gaining momentum. And he carried the flute wherever he went. He'd taken to playing long, drawn-out melodies too, whimsical at first and then, as the days drifted by, progressively stronger. Melodies were more the just tunes, he discovered; they had an identity all of their own. Melodies were magical.

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Harry found himself reflecting on things like spiritual reception, the existence of telepathic sheep and more importantly, his part in the grand plan of life.

"Everyone's got a place in the big picture, lad," James would say to his son, "It's just a matter of finding out where you fit in."

Harry wondered where he would fit in, and found himself gazing longingly towards Dullitch, city-capital of Illmoor, with its gleaming spires and megalithic monuments.

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Hailriq : "Woohooo I'm done for now I need at least five reviews to put up chapter two."

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**Recipe**

**Meatballs**

**Sauce**

**2x tins of tomato soup (with water if required)**

**Meatballs**

**500g Mincemeat defrosted**

**1 carrot finely chopped**

**1 onion finely chopped**

**Tasty cheese finely chopped (or grated if you don't have a food processor)**

**Mixed Spice**

**Worcestershire sauce**

**1-2 eggs**

**Method**

**1. chop onion, carrot and Tasty Cheese into chunks and put into Food processor and blend until fine; (if you don't have food processor do it by hand and grate cheese instead)**

**2. Put into the bowl with other ingredients splash as much or as little W Sauce as wanted; now for the fun part mix meatball ingredients with your hands make balls out of the Meat Mixture roll in plain flour and leave in fridge until needed. **

**3. Make up sauce and leave in fridge.**

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**Spicy Baked potato's**

Peeled and Diced Potato's of your choosing

Vegetable Oil

Artisse organic all purpose seasoning

**Method**

Pre-heat oven to 220-230 c

Peel and dice as many Potato's as you choose.

Coat Potato's with oil and Artisse

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**Spicy cheesy Mashed Potatoes**

1. Make mashed potatoes as normal

2. Add butter and wait for it to melt before adding Milk and Grated cheese; while mashing add Artisse all purpose seasoning.

Serve with Meatballs or bolognas or anything you want to.

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And now for what you've all been waiting for:

*Hailriq is a Boy sometimes and a Girl other times*


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